


Wash Away My Sin

by FairytalesBloodAndBullets



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairytalesBloodAndBullets/pseuds/FairytalesBloodAndBullets
Summary: He could hear the shower running and considers leaving you to it, but damn it he needed to see you, needed some warm and soft and nice after what he’d just witnessed, the violence he just committed, the evidence still red on his hands.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Wash Away My Sin

Exhausted, covered in blood both his own and from others, Booker is struggling to find his equilibrium where he’s sitting next to Nile in the van. Even though their mission was successful, he couldn’t help but feel…unsettled, dissatisfied, incomplete. Success didn’t negate the fact that they had bled, had fallen, had died, just to get back up and keep fighting. It had been brutal and bloody and every bit as horrifying as could be expected. 

Andy pulls up to the house they were using as a base a short while later, going off on her own to report back to Copley. Nile disappears into her room, Nicky and Joe into theirs. Booker stops in the kitchen, pouring a whiskey before making his way to the room you shared. He knew he’d find you there, as the spot in the living room you used as a workstation had been empty.

He could hear the shower running and considers leaving you to it, but damn it he needed to see you, needed some warm and soft and nice after what he’d just witnessed, the violence he just committed, the evidence still red on his hands.

You look up when he enters the en suite, having left the shower door open, and he hesitates while your eyes rake over him, cataloguing the signs of battle on his clothes, the war still raging in his eyes. Wordlessly, you beckon him to join you, keeping eye contact while he swallows deeply from the tumbler he’s holding, slowly divests himself of his shoes, his clothes.

When he’s done, when he gets close enough, you reach over, gently taking his hand, pulling him close. Cupping the back of his neck, you pull his face down, catching his lips in a slow, soft kiss and he opens to you, inviting in your care, your sweetness. Mindless of the blood still staining his hands, he grips your hips, dragging your wet, warm body still closer.

Breaking the kiss, you reach for the shampoo and he settles for mouthing at your neck, your shoulders, while you lather up his hair, massaging, rinsing, repeating until the water runs clear of the blood and brain matter that has you wincing, wondering if it was the only time he died tonight.

Taking a tiny step back, you change from shampoo to body wash, rubbing slow circles until the water swirling down the drain finally loses its pink tinge. All the while Booker lavishes touches, caresses across your skin, your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, dips in for the occasional lick and bite, so when you finally finish and he slants his lips over yours once more, it’s no longer soft, sweet or slow. There’s hunger now, urgency as your hand finds his pulsing, hard length, gripping, stroking, as he dips two fingers into your wet heat, pumping stretching, stealing your breath.

Groaning, he grips your leg, raises it to his hip and you take hold of his shoulders as he pushes into you in one firm, long thrust, giving you both only a moment before moving, starting slow and deep, gradually speeding up until he’s pounding into you without thought, without mercy, and all you can do is cling to him, trying to find purchase on his wet skin. It’s burning up, it’s drowning in pleasure, it’s coming home, and a soul washed clean, if but for these moments.

You whimper and moan your release, he follows but a moment after, groaning your name, bracing a hand on the wall for knees gone weak, an arm around your waist keeping you upright, keeping you close. His hope, his comfort, his personal ray of sunshine in this hell of an eternal existence.

You spend time gently towelling each other dry, still in that silence that for you means more than a thousand words, and Booker feels calmer, content, able to face the world again. 

When you’re dressed, you walk to the living room hand in hand to join the others for a late night, post op dinner of pizza, and as Booker pulls you into his side on the couch while Nicky and Joe passes out paper plates and beer bottles, you quietly murmur “I’m glad you’re home, Sebastien.”

Booker, taking in Joe now occupying a chair, feeding Nicky who settled on a pile of throw pillows by his feet, Nile badgering Andy about trying a new flavoured beer instead of drinking straight from a bottle of Vodka, thinks you’re right. The people in this room is home, no matter where you are. He drops a kiss on your head, smiling. “So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this!  
> Booker made me do it!  
> My first:  
> Fic since 2012.  
> Reader fic.  
> Post on AO3.


End file.
